


Running

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Post War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-09
Updated: 2006-10-09
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Harry has gotten himself into a lot of messes before, but this just might be the worst one yet. He knows he can't give up though. He just has to remember what he's fighting for.





	Running

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Lots of thanks to [](http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/)**hel_bee** for the super fast beta job.

* * *

Harry’s legs are pumping at an alarming rate. He can hear the ground crunching beneath his feet with each step, thundering against the uneven terrain; propelling him forward, guiding him faster and leading him farther. The blood pounds violently in his ears as he runs. There is no time to stop and catch his breath. There is no time to wait and rest. He has to keep moving.

He turns his head back every so often to look into the darkened forest surrounding him. It’s too dark and dense to see anything clearly, and with the amount of noise he’s making there is no conceivable way he can really stay hidden. His only chance is too keep moving, to get there faster than them. He just has to reach the edge of the wards before they do. Or worse, before they reach him. If he can make it to the edge of the wards he can apparate away somewhere safe: the Burrow, Grimmauld Place, _anywhere_.

The forest would be a difficult enough place to navigate under any normal circumstances, but running blindly in the dark is damn near impossible. He stumbles over the gnarled root of a large willow tree - the third time in the last half an hour - tumbling straight to the unforgiving ground. His left hand comes forward to try and lessen the impact of the fall, his right hand clutching protectively at the wand hidden in his pocket. He sucks in a deep breath as the tiny rocks slice his hand, scraping off a rather sizable chunk of skin. He watches the blood spilling from his fingers but he can hardly feel it; adrenaline racing through his body.

Turning his head to the left he listens intently. He can’t hear anything but his own labored breathing and the pounding in his head, but he knows he’s not alone. He isn’t fooled by their silence.

Harry moves to stand, crying out in pain as he puts weight on his right leg, painfully aware once again of his injured knee. He knew the fall might make it worse, but he’d hoped it would be less obvious. He bends down, running his hands down his thigh towards his knee and winces as he feels his knee twisted at an odd angle, the bone poking out too far on the right. He takes a deep breath, testing his weight on the leg once again. His vision blurs a little as his senses are hit with an intense shock of pain.

“Fuck!” Harry curses vehemently. He has no time for this. He can’t stay here. His survival depends on getting out of here, on being one step ahead of them. Something he can’t do with a bad leg. Drawing his wand out of his pocket he brings it down to point it at his knee, whispering the strongest numbing spell he knows. He realizes that he is probably doing irreparable damage to his leg by walking on it, but it doesn’t matter. It’s lose his life or maybe lose the use of his leg. As far as Harry is concerned there is only one choice.

He takes another deep breath, squaring his shoulders before taking off again. He feels his leg crack and twist with every step. Harry almost swears he can hear the bones fracturing and grinding together. The lack of pain is almost disconcerting and it makes him all the more aware of the stinging in his hand. He doesn’t bother trying to wipe the blood off though. His clothes are already so covered in dirt and blood that there isn’t anywhere clean left on them to use. Besides, the sooner the wound scabs up the better. At least it’s less messy that way.

For a brief moment Harry fears the panic might just overtake him. He still can’t see anyone but he knows they’re getting closer. An odd noise echoing in the stillness of the night can only mean one thing. They’re gaining on him, and fast. He’s still running as fast as he can, but the pain in his chest is making it difficult to breath and the numbing spell is beginning to wear off. If he doesn’t reach the edge of the forest in the next few minutes he isn’t sure he will be able to keep going.

Each step is becoming more and more painful. The spell has worn off completely now and with every footfall it feels like something is shattering his leg over and over again. He can’t remember what happened to his ribs, but he thinks there must be something wrong with them too. Breathing has never been this painful or difficult before.

Unable to keep going he finally stops, leaning against the trunk of a very large tree. The rough bark digging into his back through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. He hugs his arms across his chest to ward against the freezing air, his breath coming out in heavy puffs of white. Looking ahead Harry thinks he can see a bit of light peeking through. Just a small ray of light breaking through the barrier of the dark.

He is almost afraid to get his hopes up, but the sight of the light is too much and he can‘t prevent the spike of hope he feels. An image of Ron smiling comes to his mind and he knows he can’t give up now. Ron’s voice echoes in his mind, a strong reminder of everything he has to gain and how very much he has to lose. He is so close now. He has to keep going. Giving up has never been an option for Harry and now is no different.

There is no running anymore. Harry is practically limping, hobbling across the remaining distance. Every muscle in his body violently protesting each movement. He tries to ignore it all, gritting his teeth against the pain.

A loud clatter from behind garners Harry’s immediate attention. He twists around at lightening speed, his wand in the air and at the ready before his brain can even comprehend the situation. Fifty or so feet behind him he finally sees them. A small group of Death Eaters running at breakneck speed. At the pace Harry is going, they will have no problem overtaking him before he can get away.

In a fit of clarity Harry swears he can hear Ron telling him not to give up, that he believes in him. Far too stubborn to admit defeat or to give up, Harry begins to walk as fast as physically possible. Not quite running, but moving as fast as his pain riddled body will allow.

The men’s shouts are becoming louder with every passing second but Harry doesn’t bother to turn around again, not this time. He doesn’t want to see them getting closer, and he refuses to admit that they might catch him.

There is a break in the forest just a few more feet ahead. A clearing illuminated by sunlight. He is so close. The pain is almost unbearable now and his vision is becoming blurred. His lucidity is slipping away rapidly.

Just as he reaches the edge of the wards he feels a hand grab at his elbow but he’s come too far now to be caught. There is no way Harry will let them get the better of him. He reaches behind him, jabbing the man in the face with the end of his wand. Surprised the man loosens his grip, grunting in pain. He might’ve expected a spell, but wizards never expect physical violence and Harry learned long ago that sometimes the most crude techniques were the only ones that really worked. The unexpected action provides just the bit of distraction Harry needs. It is just enough for him to step out the forest, past the edge of the heavily warded area, and back into the light. The sun is blinding and Harry has to close his eyes to shield against its intensity.

His thoughts are quickly overpowered by excruciating pain and he can’t seem to focus on anything. He can’t think clearly. He can’t remember where he’s supposed to go or what he was supposed to do once he finally escapes, but he does know he has to get out of here and fast. He needs to be somewhere safe, but his mind can’t manage enough coherence to figure out where safe is. There are too many locations flitting in and out of his mind and he’s terrified that his lack of concentration will leave him splinched if he tries to apparate away in this condition. The only tangible thing Harry can picture is Ron; his strong hands holding Harry close and his low voice calming him. It is the only truly safe thing he knows.

Preparing himself for the worst he gets ready to apparate. He pictures Ron’s face clearly in his mind, hoping with everything he has left that it’s enough to bring him somewhere safe. That it’s enough to save him.

*~*~*~*

The next few hours, or maybe it’s been days, Harry can’t actually tell the difference, pass in a sort of hazy dream.

He hears voices, bits and pieces of arguments, whispers, and shouts. He can never focus long enough to understand what’s being said, or who’s talking. He knows he’s not dreaming the whole time because during the times he feels the most conscious there’s the same person there with him. There is always the same person touching him, and though he can’t tell what they’re saying his heart aches when he hears them speak. He knows they want something from him, he just can’t stay awake long enough to figure out what.

The only thing he’s completely sure of is that he’s not dead and, despite the pain, he’s still better off than he was before. He can only take this to mean he ended up somewhere safe. That’s what he hopes anyway.

Each time he awakens it gets a little bit easier to maintain his state of awareness.

Harry’s eyes begin to flutter open, but he closes them just as quickly. Squeezing them tightly, the light too bright to his overly sensitive eyes.

Harry almost wants to go back to sleep again, his body feeing far more tired than it should at the simple task of opening his eyes for a few seconds. But he can hear that someone again. There is someone squeezing his hand tightly, whispering in his ear.

“Come on, wake up. I know you’re in there.”

The voice sounds so familiar. He knows he should recognize it but his mind still feels so heavy. All his thoughts are still jumbled together in a haze of confusion. Nothing makes much sense. It would be so much easier to just drift away again, to let the confusion leave him for good.

“Don’t give up on me, Harry.” This time the person brushes the hair from his forehead, placing a gentle kiss upon his scar.

Harry sucks in a breath, gasping at the sensation. “Ron?” The word comes out strangled and rough, his voice weak and raw but he finally knows. He remembers. It’s been Ron all the time. The soothing voice bringing him back from that desolate and lonely place. The gentle touches keeping him stable when the pain was too much. It’s been Ron all along.

Another kiss is placed to his forehead, to the bridge of his nose and upon each of his eyelids. Strong hands cradle his head tenderly. Ron keeps talking to him, murmuring words of love and reassurance. Harry struggles to open his eyes, blinking furiously as they finally open. The first thing he sees is Ron standing over him. He looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes and his red hair is messy and falling over his face at weird angle. As the seconds pass Ron is still talking to Harry, though Harry is still having trouble understanding every word. Despite the persistent haze of confusion permeating his thoughts, Harry isn’t worried anymore. As Harry looks at Ron he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful, and he knows that he’s finally safe.

Harry is finally exactly where he was always supposed to be - with Ron.


End file.
